


Meet You on the Topside

by QuarkyThings



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Human, Banter, Cajun Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Canon-Typical Violence, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Human Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuarkyThings/pseuds/QuarkyThings
Summary: Inspired by the wonderful radiodust fic by AngeliaDark!Alastor has taken a short trip to New York to lay low after a body was discovered in his backyard, and Angel just needs to survive on the streets, not yet having fallen to drugs. They're instantly drawn to one another, who doesn't need a fellow maniac to keep you company?
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fanfiction I've published! Some warnings include murder (nongraphic), talks of cannibalism, and time era accurate homophobia (one use of the f slur) and racism.

“Well, I must say my effeminate fellow, you certainly know how to get good food in this verifiable maze of a city!” he managed to smile even while eating a hamburger, the only food that was open at this time and could be eaten on the go, since Anthony was still dripping wet.

  
After Alastor had gleefully witnessed Anthony do away with a rather… unsavory man, he had immediately revealed that both 1) he was from the south, cajun to be more precise from his accent and dark complexion and 2) he was most definitely a murderer, if not a serial one.

  
Anthony found that pretty hot.

  
He had chewed his way through his burger already, the first full meal he had had in… a while, now that he reflected.

  
“Do you have a place of residency?” Alastor asked him, turning that brilliant smile towards Anthony.

  
“Wha-? Oh, no,” Anthony shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling the blade tucked in his left pocket, “Street rat.”

  
“You’re much too polite to be just a common street rat!” Alastor made that same canned laugh as he did when he had first seen Anthony drain the life out of a man’s neck.

  
“Gee, you’re gonna make me blush,” Anthony said in a mocking tone, hopping it was dark enough under the umbrella they shared to see the heat he felt rising in his cheeks.

  
“Well, I just so happened to have… procured a rather large residency for a while as the police back home running circles trying to connect a few murderers!” Alastor said as casually and happily as if he had seen an advertisement for fresh bacon at the butchers, “You’re more than welcome to stay!”

  
“... For what price?” Anthony said warily, but he couldn’t help but drink in Alastor’s smooth skin, perfectly styled dark hair, and shining brown eyes as they passed under a streetlight.

  
“What could you offer me?” Alastor said it with a grin and a questioning quirk of the eyebrows, testing his reaction.

  
Anthont hadn’t really been thinking about anything but how soft Alastor’s lips looked, saying with a smirk, “I could suck your dick.”

  
Alastor froze and Anthony could see the honest-to-God panic in his eyes for just a split second.

  
“Ha! No! Your platonic companionship will be quite enough!” Alastor said much too quickly before starting off again down the sidewalk, Anthony’s longer legs keeping stride easily.

  
Maybe he wouldn’t make sexual jokes to a random man he had just met. Might land him in the loony bin again.

  
“So…” Anthony curled just one finger around his pocket blade as a nervous tick before he said something that might get him killed, “You’re definitely the New Orleans killer, aren’t you?” it wasn’t said as a question.

  
“Right you are!” The glint in Alastor’s eyes was of pure murderous excitement, “What a lovely name the radio came up with!”

  
Anthony let out a chuckle, finding that hungry look utterly intoxicating.

  
Alstor couldn’t help but be attracted to Anthony too, no one had ever been this close to him without setting off the warning bells in Alastor’s mind since his dear mum passed away.

  
Anthony didn’t seem to care much that Alastor was a serial killer, or that he was a bit weird, and it was refreshing to be able to simply talk to someone.

  
Had Alastor originally offered a hand to Angel for a closer look at what seemed like such a casual murderer as well as a chance to play his own little cat and mouse game? Yes.

  
Did he find himself more and more attracted the longer he asked Anthony about himself, the city, really anything that popped into his stream of consciousness?

  
Absolutely.

  
“So yeah, johns usually call me Angel now,” Anthony ran his hand through his hair, uncovering a slightly lazy, damaged eye, “I ain't nothin’ of the sort, o’ course.”

  
“Angel, I like it!” Alastor decided cheerily, “Would you like me to call you that like one of… the ‘johns’?”

  
He had asked purely to see Anthony’s reaction. When he got a look he could not place, he found himself instantly more intrigued.

  
“Yeah, yeah that sounds nice,” Anthony- no, no, Angel, replied as they rounded the street into a more residential area.

  
“Well, Angel, it seems like this is the beginning of a wonderful arrangement!” Alastor said with a grin Angel believed was trademark, pushing open the door to an apartment building.

  
Angel stopped for a moment just before stepping inside.

  
“You sure you want to be seen with me?” he said in a low, suddenly self conscious tone.

  
“Of course not!” Alastor said, a dangerous glint re-entering his gaze. Angel thought it was always just under the surface, “You’re my guest.”

  
Angel shrugged a bit, he supposed dying in a serial killer’s apartment sounded a whole lot better than out on the cold street, “Suit yourself.”


	2. Arrangements are Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel and Alastor put all their cards on the table, and an arrangement is made. This is probably where I would write smut, if I wrote smut. But I don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings needed!

The apartment was definitely newly bought… or perhaps the occupants had been killed. Angel tried not to think about it too much.

“Nice place,” Angel was aware of the fact that he was dripping rain water inside, and had not bathed for at least a few days. He was probably pretty disgusting, all things considered.

“Why, I do say I scared up a nice residency! I’ll have to live here for a while, that’s for sure,” Alastor tucked his umbrella away, looking Angel up and down. “You’re going to catch your death if you don’t warm up! I’ll go get you a towel, run you a bath if you like, but I don’t think you’ll fit most of my clothing.” Alastor’s grin widened, looking up at how much taller Angel was then he.

“You’re not going to turn me into cannibal soup, are you?” Angel had been joking, but Alastor replied with a tone much too genuine to be kidding.

“Oh, I prefer my victims raw!” He left to run a bath before Angel could process that fully.

The bath was very nice, it was warm and there was soap. Angel wondered what the catch would be. Maybe he would be murdered. Something told him not to worry about it, even though Alastor was definitely a serial killer, and maybe a cannibal, it wasn’t anything too new. Angel came from a family of murderers after all.

“Um… Alastor?” he called out to the main room as he stood from his bath, naked save for a towel wrapped around his hips.

“Yes?” “...Where are my clothes??” he didn’t mind being naked, but something told him Alastor would mind. He didn’t really want to be killed naked, and he had a pistol and a knife in his pockets.

“They were absolutely disgusting!”

“I’ve been on the streets for weeks, what’d ya expect?” Angel decided pantsless was fine, coming out of the bathroom.

Alastor’s jacket was on a hook now, forearms exposed from rolled up sleeves. Countless scars slashed across the surface of dark skin, giving Angel pause. He must’ve had a rough life too. Angel's clothes were dunked in a basin, and the grayness of the water was disgusting.

Angel did a double take when he realized Alastor was holding a pistol. His pistol, held delicately in lithe fingers.

“Uh…” Angel said, feeling color rise in his cheeks and chest, “Thanks for soaking my clothes, I’ve been living in them for a while.”

“I can tell!” Alastor was still gesticulating with the gun in his hands and it stuck Angel in place, he knew not to make sudden movements when someone was holding a loaded weapon, “I left you some clean clothing, they might be a bit small though!”

Angel shrugged, the pants fit fine, but he couldn’t button up the shirt all the way. That was more his style anyway. “What… what are you doing with my pistol?”

Alastor looked down, as if he had forgotten he was holding it, “Oh, this? Just cleaning it! Guns are not my style but I know how to appreciate them.”

“What’s your weapon of choice?” Angel smirked at the innuendo.

“Typically a freshly honed twelve inch butcher’s knife!”

“...Well then,” Angel was definitely in the house of a cannibal, “I’m. I’m not dinner for you, am I?” he asked, an edge of nerves to his voice.

“No, no! I never kill so close to home! Besides, this is supposed to be a vacation to take the heat off of myself, if you’ll let me… butcher a saying,” Alastor grinned at him, clearly enjoying the play on words.

“Was-” Angel wheezed, “Was that a fuckin pun??”

“Why yes, yes it was!”

“Horrible, I hate it.”

“Well, not every pun is a winner.” Alastor shrugged, finally putting the gun down on the table, “But that’s not the point of right now!’

“Uh… what’s the point?” Angel glanced at the variety of weapons around them still within hand’s reach.

“Why, I have a business proposition for you!” Alastor said cheerily, “I can tell you’re well versed in murder...”

“Cuttin’ right to the chase, huh.” Angel snorted, “I’m a little out of practice.”

“Perfect! Now, I’m not a mob man myself, but something tells me you are,” those brown eyes suddenly turned dangerous.

“How’d you know?”

“A magician never reveals their secrets!”

“Fair enough. So what are you proposing?”

“How’d you like to be a business partner of mine?”

“... In murder.”

“Yes! I loathe to admit that the police have almost become too much for a single man’s wit, but together? We’d be unstoppable!”

“...Why do you kill?” Angel asked. He wasn’t crazy yet, and just blunt enough to ask.

“...Excuse me?”

“Why do you do it? Kill people.”

“I imagine you have your theories.”

“I think you cook em up and eat em.”

“I prefer raw, actually.”

“I’m surprised you’re telling me this.”

“Who’d believe you? I’ve been a model tourist. Besides, given the bruises on your forehead, I’d say you’ve taken a trip to the looney bin yourself.” Of course. With his hair wet it stuck to his face, not hiding the marks medical straps had left in his skin even from weeks later.

“Why not kill and eat me?”

"Something strikes me as different about you, too valuable to be just a simple meal.”

They both knew he was holding something back, but Angel decided not to press.

“I’m flattered,” he grinned.

“I don’t have much in the way of payment, but I don’t think that;s an issue.”

“Sweetie, you’re company is more than enough for me,” Angel said with a seductive grin. There was that look of panic, and Angel would be lying if he didn’t get off on it. “But in all honesty, I got nothin to lose,” Angel crossed the room, holding his hand out to Alastor, “You got yourself a deal.”

Alastor could almost feel the sparks fly, “This will be the start of something great!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are these shorter chapters to your liking? Comment what you think!


	3. Six am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: use of the f slur occurs once in this chapter, as well as mentions of period accurate homophobia and racism.

Alastor nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the doorbell ring at the ungodly hour of six am. 

His first thought was ‘Oh God, the police!” quickly followed by, ‘No, no, it couldn’t be’

Angel’s footsteps from the guest room came down the hall, “It’s the fuzz!”

Well, there went his wishful thinking “What!?” Alastor’s smile plastered itself on in a forced mask of calm. 

“You gotta answer!”

“Why can’t you??”

“They don’t know I live here!” Angel’s look was definitely fear. 

Now the police pounded on the door. 

“I’ll grab my pistol, you answer the damn door!” 

Alastor hissed through his teeth, straightening his sleep shirt, “Won’t be the first cop I’ve killed.” 

“Me neither.” 

Angel was in position, out of sight and holding his pistol at the ready as Alastor answered the door, checking that his hunting rifle was on the side table, loaded and ready to go. 

The man wasn’t holding a gun to his face, so that was so far so good. 

“Hello there, officer! How can I help you?” he said in amicable tones, smile practiced and perfect. 

“Hello, mister,” the police man was younger, hands on hips to make himself look bigger than he actually was, “We’re asking around if anyone in the area has heard about the recent murder that took place last night.”

Alastor internally relaxed, and he could tell Angel had too. 

“Oh God, a murder?? Are there any suspects??” Alastor put his hand on his chest, the picture of surprise. 

“A homosexual who escaped from a mental hospital last month killed him, known by the name Angel Dust.” 

That tensed them both back up again. 

“That sounds. Awful!” Alastor said as noncommittally as he could. 

“Have you seen anything recently?” 

“No, I can’t say I have! It’s too early for me to even start my day!” Alastor gestured to his pajamas, grin starting to strain. 

“Well…” the policeman was definitely a newby, he hadn’t expected to get this far. Explained why he was still so polite to Alastor, “Thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome!” it was all Alastor could do not to slam the door in his face. 

Angel got up from where he was hiding, a dark look in his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” ALastor asked, smiling mask still on his face. 

Angel sat down hard on the floor, burying his face in his hands, gun still in his grip. 

So, that answered his question. Alastor didn’t do feelings, usually, but he could try. 

Alastor kneeled next to Angel, “Bad run in with the police?”

Angel sucked in his breath, “Bein’ a fuckin fag is what got me on the street. Kicked out o’ the family and stuck in a loony bin.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

Angel looked up sharply, tears threatening to fall before he scrubbed them away, “It doesn’t?”

“Look at me! I’m a good ole fashioned mixed blood psychopath! I’ve had my share of people who’d rather me dead just for how I was born,” Alastor’s smile was genuine. 

“I guess we’re perfect for each other, huh?” Angel gave him a shaky smile. 

Alastor stood, offering him his hand. 

“We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated, they're my motivation for continuing these fics!


	4. A fantastic plan

It turned out that Alastor had in fact rented the place, which Angel learned over breakfast. 

“There are benefits to having the last name LeBlanche and a fine amount of money under your belt!” Alastor said over eggs. 

“Do y’have a job?” 

“I, my good fellow, work as a radio host and a cafe waiter! Both of which I’ve had to take a short leave from for my impromptu vacation!”

“Radio?” No one Angel had heard sounded like Alastor did, all accented, silky and smooth, “Don’t they usually have that transatlantic thing goin’ on?”

“Do you mean like this, darling?” Alastor said, cajun tones replaced with punctual transatlantic ones. It was so off putting on its own, and the bastard just had to throw in a ‘darling’ for good measure. 

Angel must’ve been staring with an open mouth because Alastor smirked, finding this ever so entertaining. 

“While you may watch my mouth when I talk, it isn’t for radio! So, transatlantic it was,” Alastor slipped back into his natural sultry smooth cajun accent, “It’s not compulsory yet, but it helps you get around places, donthca think?” 

“I like 'em both,” Angel blurted out before internally cringing. Real smooth there. 

“Well, if you stick around you’ll be hearing lots of both! I practice narrating what I’m doing.” 

“Including killing?” Angel asked. 

“Of course! That’s the fun of it, you see. Like my own little morbid radio show! Great entertainment,” Alastor punctuated his sentences with laughter like periods and commas. 

“Maybe that’s why the police are on your tail,” Angel laughed, he couldn’t help it. 

“Perhaps, but that’s why you’ll be around!” Alastor pointed to Angel with his spatula. 

“You’re in luck, I ran the cleanup crew for Pops.” Angel replied lovelessly, stabbing his breakfast with more force than intended. 

“Oh, you’ll be able to do more than that if you’d like!”

This piqued Angel’s interest, “Oh yeah?” 

“Only if you like to! I’m not opposed to letting you play in my little game if you show you’re up to snuff.” 

That didn’t really sound like Angel’s preferred method of passing the time, but he wasn’t opposed to it either. 

“You gonna jump back on the murder train when we get back?”

“I was thinking…” Alastor said as he sat with his own plate of food, “We could try a little test run… I’ve gotten quite bored of laying low, you see.” 

“Have a target in mind?” Angel was all smiles, if not quite as deranged as Alastor’s pearly white grin. 

“I met an incredibly unsavory man who spends every night at the nearby bar, making derogatory comments to anyone who comes close,” Alastor’s grin sharpened a few degrees, “He seems like a start.” 

Angel could guess what ‘derogatory comments’ had been made to Alastor. 

“How do you usually go about… killin’?”

“I make my victims like me, charm and all dat,” Alastor’s accent slipped a degree or two as he started to explain his craft, “Good conversation, perfect smile,” he grinned at Angel, who couldn’t help but laugh like a fool, “Get ‘em good and drunk and they disappear into the night. Do it far enough from home in this big of a city and no one’s the wiser. This time it’ll be your job to get him out, since he already finds me… unsavory.” 

“Sounds pretty foolproof,” Angel shrugged, “When do we start?”

“Tonight sounds as good a time as any!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated! Inspirtation is hard to come y for this particular fic for some reason


	5. The First Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There be some violence and dismemberment post mortem! Use of Hatchets for death, alcohol, the like.
> 
> Sorry it's been so long since I've updated guys! Life's wild, but my inspirtation has returned from the war.

The guy in the bar really was an asshole, Angel decided. He was a messy drunk, and given the bartenders less-than-thrilled expression, he usually ended up getting cut off and kicked out. 

In clean clothes, his hair brushed and styled for once, a meal in him and a drink in hand, Angel felt like a new man. He was chatting it up with their target as Alastor watched from afar. 

It was a bit of a thrill, Angel had to admit as he leaned against the bar, talking in conspiratorial whispers with the man (who’s name turned out to be John. How boring.) He was better off than most, working at a bank down the street as a teller. Stuffy, boring living. 

They were going on about his wife and three kids, who would be a lot better off without this asshole when the bartender cut him off. 

“Oh c’mon, I’m not… I’m not that fuckin’ drunk,” he muttered but the bartender just shook his head.

“Your new friend can help you get home, John,” he said flatly, already taking away their empty glasses. Angel had two, John had a small army of them. 

“I don’t need help gettin’ home,” John stumbled when he got up, Angel easily offering him a hand at just the right moment. 

“Hey hey now, no shame in asking for help,” Angel laughed, putting him at ease.

John grumbled but was too drunk to argue much. 

They left the bar with a laugh, no one even noticing when Alastor slipped out after them. 

“I know a faster way home,” Angel said as John leaned on him. Good thing he wasn’t his type or maybe he’d feel bad. 

They made their way into Central Park, Angel walking with purpose. He could see the Hudson close by

“Are you sure this is the way?” John slurred.

“Course it is!” Angel saw Alastor just in the corner of his eye as he set John down on a bench, “You’re heavy, give me a second,” he bent over, his back cracking, “Oh, there it is!” 

That was the signal for Alastor to step out of the shadows like some kind of phantom of the night, hands folded behind his back. 

“Who… the fuck are you?” John grumbled, not quite bright enough to put two and two together just yet. He really must be ossified. 

“Why, I’m surprised you don’t remember me, you had such… colorful language for me the other day,” Alastor continued to drawl, “With all your talk of where I belong and all…” he had a hatchet in his hands, still hidden from John. 

Angel was now behind John, sliding on a pair of gloves that Alastor had leant him. He squinted his bad eye for a second to make sure his vision was clear. He didn’t want to miss the murderous gleam and shining grin Alastor was sporting. 

“I know exactly where you belong, cher,” he continued in a mocking tone, “In little bits, scattered around the park.”

John’s eyes widened and he scrambled to try and get away as Alastor raised his hatchet but Angel was faster, grabbing his throat and covering his mouth as Alastor took no pause to bury the hatchet right into the man’s chest with a stifled scream and a horrific splatter of blood. 

“You’re not even worth becoming my jambalaya.” Alastor said to John before removing the hatchet with a squelch. 

“He didn’t even fight it, I was expecting to get bit,” Angel laughed. 

This set off a chain reaction in Alastor as the adrenaline shot through them and they laughed, blood dripping from the hatchet blade onto the soft grass. 

“Sh-shit, I don’t know why that was so funny,” Angel wiped a tear away, “We should hide this body so someone doesn’t find us.” 

It turns out that Angel was incredibly skilled in hiding a dead body, taking everything that could be used to ID the man, taking everything from his wallet to his shoes. 

“What’d you do before with your victims? I can’t imagine ya ate all of em,” Angel said as they were hacking off his limbs to better throw into the Hudson. 

“Threw them to the crocs of course!” Alastor really did everything with a smile. 

“Well, we don’t got any crocs in the Hudson but no one’s findin’ him in that,” Angel grinned down at the abyss. 

“I think that was quite a successful night!” Alastor picked up his still very messy hatchet, putting it over his shoulder, “Would you like to have a drink at home? A sort of ritual of mine, you see.” 

“For sure!” Angel was never one to turn down a free drink!

Once at the house, Alastor pulled out a bottle of whiskey, about halfway empty. 

“I’m not one to drink to excess, but I sure do enjoy it after a good hunt,” Alastor pulled out two glasses, “Red wine pairs well with a meal, but whiskey is good for after some simple fun.”

Angel couldn’t help but be a bit put off at the fact that human flesh paired the same as pork chops, but it was a fleeting discomfort. 

Alastor offered him a glass, “To a successful first go, and a long partnership afterwards.” 

“It’ll be fuckin’ great,” Angel clinked his glass, and they drank deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are super appreciated even if it takes me a hot minute to respond!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critiques are welcome!


End file.
